


That Old Switcheroo

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Bodyswap, Flirting, Missions Gone Wrong, Mistaken Identity, Multi, Negotiations, Pining, Polyamory, Sharing a Bed, Threesome, tropey fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-21 05:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: Perhaps'What would Barry do?'is not always the best approach, at least not when it comes to Captain Cold.





	That Old Switcheroo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).



"This is a problem," Caitlin says while looking through her microscope at the blood samples. 

Her back is turned towards them, but Iris doesn't need to see her face to know that she's wearing that small aggravated frown and her mouth is a hard, unhappy line, an expression that's become familiar over the years, if fortunately not common. It's never a sign of anything good.

On the cot next to Iris, Barry's groan echoes her feelings. "Please don't say that! It's not permanent, is it?"

The too-high pitch of Iris's voice lets the words come out frustrated and short-tempered, not at all like she knows Barry means them. It makes Iris wince when Caitlin twists around with a guilty look, as if it's her fault that Barry and Iris are stuck in each other's bodies.

"I'm sorry! If it's any help, I'm about eighty percent sure it's not permanent? It just takes longer for you than with Freaky Friday's other victims, because none of them were metas and Barry's cells regenerate much quicker than those of an average human. I'd hoped it would mean that he burns through the effects of Delaney's powers faster, but it turns out the opposite is the case and his body is actually resisting the natural reversion the same way it resisted the onset of the swap."

Barry frowns. "It took only half an hour or so until we initially felt the effect, though. So if it's the same in reverse, shouldn't we be back to normal already?"

"I think Caitlin means that it was about thirty times longer than with the other victims, so the same might be true for swapping back?" Iris tentatively suggests.

Caitlin nods and turns a grateful little smile at her. "Yes, exactly."

Iris can see Barry running the calculations in his head, the little line between his eyebrows deepening until Iris has to bite her tongue to refrain from telling him to stop giving her premature wrinkles. Priorities. She can always give him a lecture about how to take care of her body later. From the sound of it, they'll have plenty of time for that.

"Wait, so we're gonna be like this _a whole month_?!" Barry concludes. He doesn't sound happy, and Iris can't blame him.

"It's hard to say for sure, because we never got any exact measures from the others and some of the victims returned to their own bodies quicker than others. It could be a week, or a month, it could be... three months?" With an uncomfortable look on her face, Caitlin hurries on, "I'm sorry, I wish I could speed it up. I promise I'll keep looking for a way to manually trigger the switch, but for now, I'm afraid our best bet is to just wait until it wears off."

As her eyes dart from Barry to Iris and back again, Iris wonders how disturbing it must be for Caitlin to look at her when she's speaking to Barry and vice versa. It's easy to foresee the swap causing a hell of a lot of confusion moving ahead. Explaining the situation to her dad is nothing she's looking forward to, but at least they will be able to explain it to him. It won't be quite that easy when she has to report to Captain Singh in Barry's stead, or with her boss who's expecting her – well, Barry, now – at work bright and early in the morning providing quality journalism.

They need to figure things out and fast, but for now, all they can do is accept the new status quo.

Iris reaches across the empty space between their beds for Barry's hand, entwining their fingers and putting on a brave face. "Come on, babe, we can do it. It could be worse, right?"

Barry pulls a grimace. "Easy for you to say. I have to make out with myself," he complains, but there's a small quirk tugging at the corners of his mouth already, and Iris knows they'll be okay.

"Don't worry, I have it on good accounts that you're an excellent kisser." She grins and wraps her fingers tighter around his. "Not that you'll have a lot of time figuring that out tonight, seeing as you're on a deadline to hand in an article tomorrow, and I'd rather you didn't get me fired."

Caitlin's cough interrupts their light-hearted bickering. "There's something else." 

Both Barry's and Iris's heads snap towards her, and the silence builds up into the uncomfortable anticipation of bad news. 

"Iris will have to cover Flash duties for the time being. I'm afraid Freaky Friday's powers not only affect physical features but meta powers as well."

Looking down at her arm, still clad in Barry's Flash suit even though the sleeve is rolled up and the gloves have come off for Caitlin's exam, Iris tentatively tries to vibrate it. It doesn't work at first – and then it works a little _too well_ , moving so fast a sharp pain shoots down from her shoulder to her elbow. It takes an unexpected amount of willpower to halt the motion. 

She looks at Barry, who meets her wide-eyed stare with a sympathetic expression.

Well. That complicates things.

*

"Flash. You're _late_ ," Snart tells her when she comes speeding to a halt right in front of him.

He sounds disapproving, like her tardiness is inconveniencing him, and Iris feels irrationally chided. 

It's only her second outing as the Flash, after a blessedly easy job saving the victims from a car pile-up on the motorway last night. A run, some heavy lifting, and the reward of happy, grateful faces from the people she saved. Not quite the same as facing an actual supervillain in the midst of robbing the jeweler on Main Street.

Snart fires a stream of cold in her direction and even though she flashes aside in time, the sudden drop in temperature makes her shiver underneath the suit.

She employs her new credo – _What would Barry do?_ – and fumbles for an appropriate cheeky comeback while trying to evade the volley of shots from the Cold Gun. 

"I thought I'd give you a head start," she quips. 

After the countless times she's been subjected to the fast-paced back-and-forth of banter when listening in to the Cold vs. Flash fights, she gets the words right – but the tone comes out all wrong, too tentative and breathless, and she doesn't quite manage to replicate Barry's cocky smile.

 _'Don't let him distract you,'_ Cisco warns through the radio, which is about the least helpful advice she can possibly imagine in that moment. How's she supposed to _not_ let the guy with a gun specifically designed to counteract her powers and every intention of making her job as difficult as possible distract her?

In front of her, Snart stops firing and cocks his head. "Kind of you. And here I thought you got cold feet." 

He puts unnecessary emphasis on the pun – yes, she got it, it's hilarious – and Iris rolls her eyes, speeding towards him. In her ear, Barry says, _'No, wait, don't. The floor —'_ , but the warning registers too late and before her body can catch up with her mind, she's slithering on the slippery tiles covered by a thin, all but invisible layer of ice. Almost losing her footing completely, she grabs hold of one of the display cases to steady herself. It comes tumbling down around her, a bunch of necklaces that Snart hadn't already snatched clattering to the floor and bouncing off the ice. 

She misses the window to react because Snart obviously anticipated her mishap and fires at her while she's still busy staying on her feet, the gun's blast hitting her full-on and encasing her lower legs in ice. 

It's fucking _cold_. 

The frosty air bites at her cheeks, and her skin feels like there are tiny needles poking at it, and she cannot feel her toes anymore. She doesn't even want to imagine what it was like for Barry before Cisco put the thermal threading into the suit. _Cisco_. She needs to focus. Cisco is shouting at her through the radio connection, and Barry is telling her to vibrate her legs to break the ice, and Caitlin sounds concerned about her vitals. All Iris wants is for them all to shut up so she can concentrate on how to get out of here without permanent damage to her legs or her ego.

And great – now Snart is stepping up towards her, lingering instead of being on his merry way, like gloating takes precedence over disappearing with his loot. 

"Not your day today, is it?" he drawls. "Didn't expect you to fall for that little trick. Almost too easy."

She can't see his eyes behind the goggles, but the way he's stalking her like a predator makes her wonder if she misjudged the situation and he's aiming for a more permanent solution to his Flash problem than she expected, given the somewhat playful nature of his recent clashes with Barry. 

Fear settles like lead in her stomach and she tries to work harder on freeing her legs, but the vibrations Barry keeps telling her to create won't come.

"Snart, listen to me, you can't —"

He stops in front of her with a victorious smile and her voice falters as she braces herself for an attack. Instead, he bends down to grab the scattered jewelry from the floor, stuffing it into his pockets. 

When he straightens again, the motion brings him right into her personal space, his faces inches from her own. He pulls down his goggles, eyes sparkling with mirth. 

"Question is, what to do with the Scarlet Speedster, now that I caught him, fair and square?" 

It could be a threat, but the tone is all wrong, too much of a teasing lilt in the drawl, too much suggestiveness, too much _warmth_. It almost makes her forget the frostbite on her toes and goose-bumps on her skin, the weight in her gut loosening and turning into something else as she can't bring herself to break the hypnotic hold of his gaze.

Have Snart's eyes always been this blue?

Without conscious effort, her body – _Barry's_ body – is doing something weird, the energy drumming through her veins needing a release, the Speed Force demanding to be set free. The next thing she knows, the ice around her legs shatters with a noise loud enough to make her jump.

"Warming up, Scarlet?" Snart's voice is a gravelly, low caress.

Iris swallows. Her legs feel wobbly and her mind is reeling. Perhaps _What would Barry do?_ is not always the best approach, at least not when it comes to Captain Cold.

She needs to get out of here, and fast. 

With a quick flick, she disables her ear-piece. "I don't have time for this. There's a meta attack at Mercury Labs. I have to be there," she lies. 

She prays that Barry's tell-tale blush won't give her away as she flashes away quickly, not giving Snart time to respond.

*

Back at S.T.A.R. Labs, it's easy to get lost in Caitlin's check-up and Cisco's cheerful pep talk and Barry's fussing.

They spare her a detailed debriefing, and while she'd normally argue against the kid glove treatment, she's relieved not to have to rehash what exactly happened at the jewelry store. But then they're at home at the loft, just Barry and her, without the endless chatter of their friends to distract Iris from how badly the mission went off the rails and why.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up over it," Barry says softly, misinterpreting her silence. "I totally fell for the iced floor trick too at the beginning. Even now that I know what to expect, my track record with Snart is more like 50/50 at best."

He offers her a reassuring smile, familiar on Iris's own features, and she feels an overwhelming rush of affection and love towards him. Which makes it all the harder to breach the topic she really wishes she could ignore but knows she shouldn't.

"Babe, about Snart —" She bites her lip because there's really no good way to say this. "When he had me iced to the floor and he cornered me... I thought he was gonna make a threat or give me some grand villainous speech, but it felt like he was... coming on to me? Well. Coming on to you, I guess."

Barry's eyes go wide and he looks flustered, and Iris can just about imagine the deer-in-the-headlights look he would sport if he was himself right now. "He did? I mean— I guess he's always kinda laying it on a little thick? But he's not, like... _serious_. It's just his whole Captain Cold persona, the way he's using it to create a distraction."

"Uh-huh." She's listened to Barry and Cold trade banter during their fights, but there's a world of difference between being a bystander and having all of Snart's intensity and that frosty blue-eyed stare turned right onto her instead. Being stuck – literally – in Barry's temporarily ice-encased shoes for a while has been eye-opening. And even if she isn't entirely sure what exactly Snart's game had been, distraction wasn't it. "He had me literally frozen to the spot. He could have made a quick getaway instead of risking the police arriving while he was sticking around and making suggestive remarks about having 'caught you'."

She makes little air quotes with her fingers. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Barry's fingers tangle in the long locks of hair, turning his habitual gesture of embarrassment into something that looks both awkward and coy. It's oddly appropriate, Iris thinks. 

"I'm sorry. It's just— It's really easy to fall into that kind of back and forth with him. I swear, I don't mean—" 

"Barr, stop!" The conversation is going in a direction Iris didn't mean to take it, Barry's defensiveness only elevating her own guilt, and she struggles to reroute it. 

"I'm not mad at you. I just didn't see it coming. Snart had me at a disadvantage and I was a little scared, and suddenly he's right there in my space being all smooth and flirty and —" She takes a deep breath, before admitting what she knows to be the most damning part of the whole encounter. "I didn't manage to get a grip on the whole vibrating thing before, but right there, it just... happened. I went through the ice without even trying."

"Oh. I vibrate when I—"

She stops him before he can finish the thought. "I _know_ , Barry."

Of course she knows. It's happened plenty of times with her, and she's always found it a rather... expedient quirk of being a speedster. But there's a difference between _getting worked up_ when you're making out with your fiancée and getting worked up because Captain Cold gets under your skin.

"Hey, it's okay," Barry says, reaching for her hand. 

His fingers feel tiny and fragile against hers, and she suddenly really wants to be back in her own body, wants to curl up against Barry's larger form and let him hold her, longing for the comfort of what often seems like the one normal thing in their crazy lives. 

"Would it help if I told you you weren't the only one?"

Iris laughs, and comes out like a wet sniffle. "It really shouldn't help, but in a way it kinda does?"

Barry's hands come up to frame her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. "I love you," he says. It sounds like reassurance and so much more, and Iris's heart swells with feeling.

She smiles. "What was it that Star Trek guy said? 'I know'?" 

"Actually, it's—" He shakes his head, huffing out a laugh and ducking his head, a private, fond smile on his lips. "Never mind."

It never fails to endear her, the way he reacts when she messes up pop culture references. She wonders if he'll ever realize that she's doing it deliberately, just to get this exact reaction. She's been listening to him going on and on about classic sci-fi movies and TV shows since they were kids, and she might not care about space battles and alien societies, but she cares about _Barry_ , and she's always paid attention to his enthusiastic ramblings.

He rises up on his toes and captures her lips in a slow kiss, blissfully taking her mind off space romance and inappropriate hard-ons for Leonard Snart. They can deal with that later. Much later. 

Preferably never.

*

Never comes round sooner than Iris had hoped.

She's at Jitters, filling out a form for one of Barry's CSI cases and trying to decipher the chicken scratch notes Barry left for her to copy, quietly cursing the CCPD for not going digital and sparing her the ordeal. If they did, Barry could write his own damn reports, and no one would care about the handwriting not matching the one they have on record.

Someone slides into the seat opposite her, and she's so frustrated by having to do both of Barry's jobs – the regular one on top of the costumed night-shifts – on top of her own that she's snapping a rude, "Do you mind?! I'm in the middle of something—" before she even looks up.

Familiar blue eyes stare back at her from underneath a blue baseball cap with a National City Sharks logo pulled low onto the forehead. 

Shit.

Snart smirks, reaching out to grab the coffee she'd only just ordered and taking a sip of it. He makes an appreciative noise. "Hmm. A Flash. Good choice. Tastes better iced, if you ask me."

Iris gathers herself enough to snatch the cup right out of his hand and pull it protectively towards her. Snart may be a dangerous career criminal with a weapon that can freeze off limbs and neutralizes her powers, but no one gets between Iris and her coffee today, and she's willing to throw down over it if necessary. 

"Yeah, well, no one's asking you, and that coffee's mine. Feel free to get your own. Preferably somewhere else."

"Ouch. Testy!" 

He leans back in his seat, clearly unruffled by her rebuke, enlacing his fingers in front of him with a slow, satisfied smile that makes her want to punch him or— She clamps down on where her thoughts want to take her and glares at him.

"So, Barry. Wanna tell me what the other day was all about?"

What the other day was _about_?! The man's got some nerve.

"What? You mean when you got in my face looking at me like you wanted to peel me out of the Flash suit and then hit on me while committing a felony?" The words are out before she can stop herself, acutely aware that it was the wrong thing to say, that Barry would never have called Snart on it. He probably wouldn't even have thought anything was off about that last fight at all.

Snart cocks his head and gives her a speculative look. His narrow-eyed stare burns into her like laser beams, like he's trying to look right into her head and pluck out the thoughts. For a wild moment, she wonders if he acquired mind-reading powers. It wouldn't be the craziest thing that happened since the Particle Accelerator exploded. Hell, it wouldn't be the craziest thing that happened _this week_ alone.

"What I _meant_ was you making rookie mistakes and letting me get away with goods of substantial value, pretending you had to flash off to take care of a meta attack that ain't on record."

No telepathic powers, then, just some good old deduction, picking up the clues she inadvertently left for him. 

Dammit. She'd forgotten about the little white lie she told to get out of the situation with Snart. To be fair, she didn't expect him to actually spend time on fact-checking if it wasn't leading up to a job. How is she supposed to get out of this one?

"The CCPD doesn't have every meta attack on record."

"S.T.A.R. Labs does," Snart counters, raising an eyebrow.

"You hacked into—" His hand quickly clamps down on top of hers, giving it a firm squeeze that's probably meant to be a warning. The surprising warmth of the touch is enough to startle her into silence, so it works the way he wanted, if not for the reason she assumes he intended. 

She quickly looks around and lowers her voice. "I can't believe you hacked into S.T.A.R. Labs' database just to call me out," she hisses through clenched teeth.

He smirks, and then his hand is gone and he's pulling the file she was working on towards him, out of her reach so she can't get it back without either raising a fuss or using her speed. 

"Copying someone else's notes? Oi. Naughty. Doesn't sound like something a goodie-two-shoes like Barry Allen would do. Or would need to do. Which begs the question..." 

He leans forward, and his whole demeanor changes. 

Suddenly his eyes are hard and cold, and the shiver that runs down Iris's back is not a pleasant one. She remembers feeling threatened at the jeweler's. In hindsight, now that she knows how Snart looks when he's genuinely menacing, she realizes she was never in any danger back there. 

"Who the fuck are you and where the hell is Barry?" 

The ice in his tone almost makes her recoil, but she straightens her shoulders and meets his gaze head-on. This game's gone on for far too long, and she has nothing to gain from keeping up appearances. "Probably at CCPN, trying to fumble through an article that's not going to win either a Pulitzer _or_ the approval of a homicidal maniac, who right now looks like he's ready to take out the Cold Gun in a coffee shop just because his favorite superhero nemesis didn't come out to play."

She can make out the moment he puts two and two together, but it still takes almost a minute until he... thaws. Ridiculous as the pun is, there's no better word for it. It's funny, because she used to think of him as cool and aloof, but having seen the difference, it's obvious how much he's been allowing himself to relax around Barry and her, all of Team Flash, really. 

"Iris." He looks her up and down, clearly trying to reconcile her physical appearance with her identity. "I like what you've done with your... everything."

The quip, emphasized with an effusive little flourish with his hand, makes her snort. 

"Yeah, I noticed." She aims for somewhere between teasing and reproachful, but the words come out slightly petulant. 

Snart's lips twitch. "Didn't say I didn't _appreciate_ the old look."

"Oh my God, just stop it, will you?" 

His shameless flirtation shouldn't make her all flustered. She blames Barry and how easily he turns into a shade of red that rivals the color of his suit. Perhaps this is all Barry, just this body's unconscious reaction to Leonard Snart turning on the charm. 

Snart laughs. The chair screeches on the floor tiles as he gets to his feet. 

"Well, this has been illuminating. Good luck with your work." He motions towards the file, lying discarded between them. "And also that side-job of yours. Gotta keep a cool head out there. Stay on your feet. I'm sure you're a fast learner."

Grinding her teeth to refrain from encouraging even more punned banter, she watches him saunter out of Jitters, the good people of Central City enjoying their coffee never knowing that Captain Cold was just among their midst. It's only when the door has swung closed behind him that she realizes that he's taken her coffee.

*

Inconvenient as the whole body swap experience is, having speedster powers has its advantages. Like when Iris is in a rush to get home, and Jitters is halfway across the city.

She rounds the corner into a back alley and checks if anyone's around before reaching for the Speed Force and flashing back to the loft, lightning dancing over her skin as she races through the rush-hour-packed streets of Central City, the unparalleled sensation of raw speed and energy coursing through her only amplifying the excitement that's already buzzing in her blood.

Barry looks slightly taken aback at being tackled to the couch, but she knows that expression – she's _worn_ that expression plenty of times – and it's definitely the good kind of taken aback.

He's the one who pulls her down into a kiss, all heat and hunger, clearly more than comfortable with having a larger, decidedly male body pressing him into the cushions. It doesn't surprise Iris when her thoughts take a sharp turn and she imagines Barry, in his own body, underneath Snart in a similar position as they're now. Maybe minus some clothes. It's an altogether too appealing thought, spurred on by Barry's earlier admission as much as by Iris' latest run-in with Snart and his unconcealed interest. 

But when she looks at Barry now, she sees herself, and she can't help but let the fantasy morph into Snart with _her_ , his weight on top of hers, those clever, restless hands on her skin. 

Guilt and desire mingle in her stomach into an unholy mixture. She kisses Barry harder, trying to push the mental images away but only partially succeeding, and the noise that escapes her throat is part arousal, part frustration. 

It's enough to make Barry break away, craning his head back as he watches her. His hand curves against her cheek, the touch tender and gentle.

"Hey. Wanna tell me what brought this on? Not that I'm complaining, but you seem a little..." He grins. "Worked up?"

As much as she wishes they could just get back to what they were doing before, Barry deserves an explanation as much as anything. With an unhappy little sigh, she tries to sit up, but Barry pulls her back down until she's stretched out half on top of him, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Snart found me at Jitters," she admits. "He was suspicious that you were acting out of character. He looked like he was gonna shoot me for, I don't know, kidnapping and impersonating you or something, so I had to tell him."

Barry doesn't seem at all surprised. "How did that go?"

"How do you think? He went straight back to flirting and then he stole my coffee right from under my nose."

"Well, I guess there's a reason he's a master thief," Barry says, and Iris wishes she wasn't hyper-aware of the amusement and fondness in his tone. Wishes she didn't understand it a little too well.

*

The alert that the Cold Gun has been used comes from one of Gianni Santini's warehouses at the harbor.

Iris is tempted to ignore it and let Snart rob the head of the Italian mob – couldn't happen to a nicer guy, really, and whatever Santini's keeping at the warehouse is probably not something that should be in his possession anyway – but Barry argues that things have a tendency to go sideways when they turn a blind eye, and Central City doesn't need a mob war on their hands if Gianni is turned into an ice statue. Privately, Iris thinks Barry's probably less worried about Santini's well-being or the mobsters turning on each other, and more about Snart painting a target on his own back should Santini trace the heist back to him, but she isn't exactly in a position to begrudge Barry the favoritism.

Her radio connection to S.T.A.R. Labs abruptly dies the moment she zips through the open gate into the dark warehouse. It's almost a relief when the chatter stops and Iris can be sure that her imminent confrontation with Cold won't be eavesdropped upon. 

Snart probably knows she's here, so there's little point in stealth. 

"Two heists in a week? Is that really necessary, Snart?" she calls out, waiting for Snart to show his face.

As if on cue, he steps out of one of the massive crates piled up all around the place, metal screeching as the door opens. The investigative journalist in Iris itches to let Snart go on his merry way and use her speed to have a peek inside every single one of the crates in order to find out what illegal businesses Santini has his hands in. All the juicy stories that kind of information would lay a solid basis for.... It's a pity her Flash duties make her set different priorities. 

"Think of it as a win-win situation," Snart drawls with the lazy satisfaction of a man who already got what he came for. "You get in some training for those _flashy_ new powers of yours going up against someone who doesn't actually want you dead, I get to walk away with my spoils when you fail to stop me."

Barry would probably have a quick-witted, amused response ready, but Iris doesn't have to pretend to be Barry for Snart's sake anymore, so she allows herself the luxury of an out-of-character reaction, glaring at Cold. "We'll see about that."

She rushes at him, zigzagging away when he fires. This time, she knows to avoid the ice on the ground, taking the long way around. It means going through the crate at Snart's back, but that's easy. It's finally a chance to put all those lessons in phasing Barry put her through earlier this week to good use. 

Charging at the metal barrier, she reaches for the Speed Force to make herself vibrate through it. The world blurs around her, the same way it did in the speed lab, and Iris can feel the crackle of energy in every cell of her body like she's a live wire. It's amazing and addictive and powerful and she never wants it to end.

And suddenly the crate is there, right in front of her, solid and unmovable as she crashes into it at full-speed.

She loses some time there. 

Everything hurts: The buzzing in her head that won't stop. The way her body feels like she got herself electrocuted. The sharp pain in her right leg. The feeling in her body, like she's coming down from a high, reminding her of that time in college when Clara Zimmerman from her writing class convinced her to smoke pot to 'release her creative energy' and Iris spent the next day missing an exam while curled up in her dorm waiting for the nausea to ease.

Snart's crouching next to her, the Cold Gun still in his hand but powered down, his goggles off. He inclines his head like a curious bird as he watches her with an unreadable expression.

"Neat little stunt. Not quite what you were going for, I imagine. You okay?"

Iris grinds her teeth, which only amplifies the headache. "I'll be fine. You really should have left while you had the chance." 

She ignores the dizziness and pushes herself up, powering through by sheer force of will and the unwillingness to embarrass herself any further. Despite her best efforts, however, she can't stay on her feet for more than a few seconds. Her leg hurts too much and it's twisted at an awkward angle, which means it was probably broken and mended itself too fast and without proper setting, so Caitlin will have to re-break it. Sometimes, Barry's powers _suck_.

She collapses in a heap, clenching her hands on her thigh to steady herself against the onslaught of pain.

"Yes, clearly. How ever will I be able to get away from the fearsome hero giving their best newborn Bambi impression? It's a mystery," Snart taunts. Iris really, really wants to punch him, but she's too busy remembering how to breathe. "Just call your friends and have them get you. They should hurry, make a clean getaway before Don Santini shows up and things get _heated_."

"Yeah, well, I would, but someone set off an EMP and fried my communicator," she fires back, anger and frustration bringing on a surge of adrenaline that helps make the pain bearable for a moment. 

She hates admitting to being vulnerable, but she's out of options and the way Snart treats everything like a game makes her so mad, tension and embarrassment blooming hot on her cheeks. 

Snart just stares down at her for a long moment before he rolls his eyes heavenwards and huffs out a long-suffering sigh. Uncharacteristically skipping the opportunity to get another snarky comment in, he bends down to lift her up. 

Iris is tempted to bat his hands away, but she's aching all over, tired and hungry, and she just wants this day to be through already. "I swear to God, Snart, if you kidnap me, I will castrate you with one of my high heels as soon as I'm back in my own body."

He snorts. "Cute. I can see you have a bright future as a vigilante. Has Cisco given you a name yet? Stiletto, maybe? Lady Louboutin?"

The mental image of herself in a tight black suit with ten-inch heels, kicking ass in Central's back alleys, almost makes her forget her injury for a second. 

She quickly tries to get her twitching lip under control and scowls. It's not funny. It isn't. "I'm serious."

"Relax, Iris. Just giving you a lift back to S.T.A.R. Labs. Can't have anyone come upon an injured speedster and find out who's under the mask. Even if the face doesn't match the person right now."

That's... more than she expected. She wonders for a moment if he's just taking pity on her because of how utterly useless she's been in both their clashes or if he'd do the same for Barry, but the answer is obvious. 

"I didn't know you cared."

He doesn't look at her as he carries her out, taking care not to further pain her leg. Her arms wrap around his neck to steady herself, fingers clenching in the padded fabric of his hood. It's softer than she'd imagined it to be, and Snart's hands are warm and steady.

"I don't," he drawls, all nonchalance that she's beginning to suspect is as fake as the fur on his parka that's tickling her nose. "If everyone knows who the Flash is, my leverage is gone."

"Does Barry actually buy into the whole 'I'm only out for myself' routine?" 

She doesn't expect an answer, certainly doesn't expect Snart to snort out what could almost be a laugh. "We both pretend that he does."

It's probably the most honest thing he's ever told her. She buries her smile in his shoulder. "It's no wonder you two aren't getting anywhere."

Snart's arm around her waist briefly tightens in response. 

It could be surprise or discomfort or a warning, but she doesn't see his face and he doesn't reply, so it's impossible to tell.

*

When Snart carries her into the Cortex, Iris's dad immediately goes for his gun. Cisco and Caitlin jump up from their seats and Barry comes rushing towards them from the whiteboard, too slow to stop her dad.

Snart stares down the barrel of the SIG-Sauer with the unimpressed air of someone who's been in this position a hundred times already. His drawl is more pronounced than ever, the Captain Cold persona laid on thickly. "I'd raise my arms, but think about it, Detective. Do you really want me to drop your daughter when she's already injured?" 

"What the hell did you do to her?"

"Joe —" Barry warns, but her dad just ignores him and steps closer, the gun steadily trained on Snart.

Even from halfway across the room, Iris can see the vein on his forehead swelling up, and she knows she has to interfere before someone else gets hurt. 

"Dad, it's not his fault. I tried to phase through a wall and misjudged the frequency." It's embarrassing to admit, after all those hours they put into practicing phasing, but better to deal with some embarrassment now than to have to dress gunshot wounds later. It's not like she'd be fast enough to catch the bullets right now. 

Her dad isn't mollified by her explanation. "It's his fault you were out there in the first place!"

He's not exactly wrong, but it's not quite true either. "I'll be out there a lot more until we manage to get Barry and me back into our own bodies. And I'd honestly rather this had happened with someone whose first instinct it is to pick me up and get me back here than with a meta who would have used the opportunity to get rid of the Flash."

Her dad frowns. His jaw is set in a hard, angry line, but the gun wavers a little. It's apparently enough for Snart to feel safe to cross the room towards the lab and set Iris down on one of the cots. 

The others trickle in one by one, Caitlin and Barry first, then Cisco, and finally her dad. Snart watches them through narrowed eyes, and even though his posture doesn't change and he doesn't reach for his gun, he clearly hates that there's no clear path to the exit.

"Thank you." 

Iris's words are quietly spoken, but in the tense silence of the room, only disturbed by the soft mechanical buzz of computers and monitors, they're still clear enough to carry. 

Snart looks tenser than ever. Even the sarcastic smirk he levels at her looks strained. "Always happy to help a speedster in need," he drawls.

"Is this, like, a genetic thing? Because you're in Barry's body?" Iris's dad asks, while Caitlin pushes past Snart to do a quick superficial scan of Iris's injuries.

Iris frowns at him, distracted and confused. "What?"

He shakes his head, eyes flickering between her and Snart and Barry. "I always thought it was just Barry who had a soft spot for Cold, but you know what? You sound exactly like him now."

"Dad!" 

Never mind the embarrassment over failing at phasing properly, being put on the spot like that by her father is _excruciating_. And it's a million times worse because Snart's right there.

Snart snorts. Across the room, Barry makes an aborted sound and ducks his head, and Iris would bet that if he was in his own body, they'd be able to see a blush blooming on his face. Caitlin and Cisco both pretend to be very busy. In her defense, though, Caitlin actually is distracted taking care of Iris's leg.

"And on that note, I'll be on my way. Barry." Snart nods towards Barry, and Iris doesn't think she imagines the way his gaze lingers before he turns towards her and inclines his head in acknowledgment. " _Flash_. Better put some ice on that leg. I'll see you around."

He pushes his way through to the exit without looking back. His hand lingers above his gun holster as he steps around her dad, who continues to glare, but no one stops Snart as he strolls out.

*

Luckily for Iris – as well as for the CCPD and Central City as a whole – her track record as the Flash turns out to be about 90% better when the person she's up against isn't a perpetually sarcastic, annoyingly blue-eyed ice-themed villain with a penchant for temperature puns.

Once she got the hang of it and a couple of victories under her belt, she starts to relax and enjoy it a little: the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of speed, the awareness that she can do things no one else can do, the immediacy of helping people in a more hands-on way than she can when she's providing assistance on the radio or pointing out socio-political injustice in her articles.

And then she's thrown back into her own body again, as quickly and unprepared as she'd found herself in Barry's after Freaky Friday had turned her powers on them.

It's in the middle of a fight with a telekinetic meta Cisco has labeled Mindbender when nausea and an overwhelming dizziness hit Iris. Her vision blurs and goes dark, and when it clears again, she's back at the Cortex, listening to Barry yell as cars come flying in his direction like oversized missiles.

In the end, Barry comes out on top, both he and Iris recovering from the switch fast enough to get the job done and slap a pair of power-dampening cuffs on Mindbender before handing him over to the CCPD. But it fills Iris with a new sense of helplessness, suddenly being demoted back to the sidelines and having to listen to Barry fight out there on his own, and she struggles to shake the anxiety off even when disaster has been successfully prevented. 

During the debriefing at S.T.A.R. Labs, Barry keeps stealing worried glances in her direction. After Caitlin has finished her check-up and lets them leave with a clean bill of health and a reminder to inform her as soon as they feel any side-effects from the body swap, Barry pulls Iris aside. 

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine. Happy to be back to myself." She knows her smile is a little tight around the edges, but it's the best she can do when she's struggling to push through the sense of wrongness and unreality.

Barry's frown, predictably, doesn't ease. She didn't really believe she could fool him. 

"I thought you didn't like being a meta?" 

"I didn't." She shakes her head. It's hard to explain. "But I guess I got used to it. Suddenly being normal again, not having powers, it makes me feel... I don't know? Inadequate."

"Iris, no." He pulls her towards him and she gladly goes, taking pleasure in sinking into the familiar feeling of his arms around her for the first time in too long. "It's okay to miss having powers, but you're perfect the way you are. Nothing about you is inadequate. And I'm not just saying that because I love you. Defeating Mindbender today? I couldn't have done it without you on the radio, telling me how to navigate the building and use his own powers to trap him. And let's face it, you're so much more effective providing that kind of back-up than I am. The most I did when I was in your position was tell you to run faster and not get distracted by hot villains."

She turns her face into the soft cotton of his S.T.A.R. Labs jumper, laughing and sniffling at the same time, her emotions in turmoil. 

"It was just one hot villain. And he gets you pretty distracted too," she protests, but Barry's words and his unwavering faith in her already had a calming effect.

He laughs quietly and presses a kiss to her hairline. "I never said he doesn't. Though I never got myself injured just so he'd pick me up and carry me back to S.T.A.R. Labs."

"You know I didn't do it on purpose!" 

Embarrassment makes her face heat up, but it would be a lie to claim that the warmth spreading through her is entirely down to that. In between the memory of Snart lifting her up with more care and gentleness than she ever thought him capable of and the hint of jealousy swinging underneath the teasing lilt in Barry's voice, she starts to make a plan.

*

"Looking for me, Barry?"

Snart slides into her booth with all the grace and stealth of a panther in its natural environment stalking its prey, momentarily startling her even though she's been waiting for him to show up. He leans across the table on his forearms, leather jacket creaking as he moves to steal a fry from her plate.

"Yes and no," Iris answers.

It takes only a second or two for him to get it, surprise flashing across his face so fast she almost misses it, followed by a smile that's as pleased as it's wicked. 

"Iris. Back in your own body, I see." He gives her another one of those slow once-overs, as intense as a touch, making goose-bumps rise on her skin. "How can I be of assistance?"

It's more like the other way around, though she assumes he'd balk at the idea of needing her help, much less accepting it. Then again, maybe they can help each other, and Barry too. If what she has in mind pans out, it'll work in all of their favors. That's a big if, however.

The waitress, a sulky brunette who'd glared at Iris when she'd sat down and took almost fifteen minutes to take her order, saunters over with swinging hips and puts a beer in front of Snart with a smile that transforms her entire face.

"Thanks, Jan."

"Sure thing. Your usual order?"

His eyes flit towards Iris, expression impossible to read. "Don't think so. Doubt I'm gonna stick around long enough to eat."

Jan shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll put the beer on your tab."

Iris waits until she's slinked off before turning to Snart. "Are you in a rush to get away? You haven't even heard what I'm here for."

"Didn't think _Saints and Sinners_ was your scene. I figured if you went through all the trouble to track me down here, whatever you wanted was probably time sensitive." He takes a sip of his beer, right from the bottle, his eyes never leaving her as he swallows.

"Not exactly," she admits, chewing for too long on a stale, saltless fry. 

Then again, he's not entirely wrong. She does want to get this over with. This part, at least. The awkward small talk, the testing of waters, the millions of ways this could go wrong before anything even happens. 

No. That's no way to approach this. She's spent the last eleven days when she was in Barry's body second-guessing herself because she didn't know how to handle the powers, and the responsibility, and the grave consequences of messing up. But she's _herself_ now, and taking leaps of faith is what she does. If there's anything her years of being a reporter have taught her, it's that she's good at making people see things from her point of view. Now's the time to put that talent to good use.

She sets down the half-eaten fry and brushes off her hands. "Remember what I said the other day when I broke my leg?"

"Hmm. Hard to forget such a creative threat." Snart helps himself to another fry, generously dipping it in ketchup, which is probably the secret to making it edible. "Guess I should be glad you're wearing sneakers."

It startles a laugh out of Iris that she covers with her palm, ducking her head. "Oh my God, no. Not that! Don't worry, I don't have any plans to mutilate you with my heels right now." 

She ignores his sarcastic, "Comforting," and presses on, because it'd be too easy to let him tempt her into a volley of bickering that'd be as fun and familiar as it would be unproductive, never getting to the serious part of this conversation. Which is the heart of the problem.

Leaning back, she gives Leonard a measuring look. "No, I meant the part about you and Barry not getting anywhere."

His face doesn't give anything away, but his hands briefly still. Just for a moment, but long enough to let her know that he's rattled. You wouldn't know it by looking at him; his expression remains as cool and amused as ever when he raises an eyebrow at her.

"You offering to bow out for my sake?" he mocks, a new sharpness in his tone that lets her know he doesn't appreciate the turn in conversation. 

"Not exactly."

"Not... _exactly_?" he echoes, the edge in his voice stronger now. "Tell me, Iris, does Barry know you're here? Because this sounds like a conversation you need to have with him instead of me."

This isn't going to plan. It's obvious that he's ready to get up and leave if she says the wrong thing, and she isn't sure if she even knows what the right thing is. 

If it were Barry sitting across from her now, she'd reach out and take his hand and talk him down until his nerves have calmed, but this is Captain Cold. Chances are he's more likely to balk at an attempt of touchy-feely sentiments and fluttering eyelashes than he is at the throw of a gauntlet, so that's what she goes for, hoping to heaven and hell that it's the right choice.

"Is it really Barry's agency you're worried about, Leonard? Because that's sweet, but misplaced. Barry and I are partners. I love him. I wouldn't have come here if I hadn't talked to him about what he wanted. If it wasn't something we both wanted. Or are you just scared of letting yourself have this because you're afraid you'll end up emotionally compromising yourself? I guess the stakes are a bit too high for you."

She forces herself to hold his gaze as takes a drink from her glass of lemon water, wishing it was something stronger. 

Staring him down over half-eaten fries and a Hail Mary dare he might well turn down is a lot more nerve-wracking than actually facing him as the Flash. Iris's heart is beating so fast that it feels like it might take a leap right out of her chest.

She's almost surprised when he doesn't stand and walk out with a parting threat. He keeps watching her through narrow eyes until his forbidding expression clears and he throws his head back and laughs out loud, startling her.

"What's so funny?"

"Your blatant attempt at manipulation."

Her heart sinks, and perhaps he can see the disappointment on her face because his lips twitch.

"A bit transparent, but bold. Gotta say, I'm intrigued." He holds up a finger. "Fine, make your pitch. Tell me what you had in mind. I can't wait to hear how you intend to bring our little stalemate to a _mutually satisfying_ conclusion."

"Look, I don't have some complex master plan. But when you cut things down, they're pretty simple. Barry likes you, probably more than he should. You like him more than you're ever going admit to me. And don't even think about denying it. You forget that I got some first-hand experience being in Barry's shoes." 

She takes a deep breath, because that... that was the easy part. Admitting the rest of it is harder. "And the thing is... I can see _why_ he likes you. Why he's willing to cut you more slack than he ever does with anyone else and trust you even when you've hurt him before. And it's not just because of the blue eyes and the bad-boy charm. It goes deeper than that, which should probably worry me, but instead I'm right there with Barry. Maybe my dad was right and it really is catching."

He snorts. "Let's agree to leave Detective West out of this."

"Gladly," she concurs. "I'd rather not be the reason my father had a heart attack." 

Not that she thinks they'll be able to keep it from him forever, not if it goes as well as she hopes it will. But that's something she should probably keep to herself for now, because if everything she confessed just now didn't scare him away, the suggestion that she's angling for something more permanent than a quick and dirty tussle likely would.

"Snart —"

"Thought we were on first name terms already." His lips curl, and she remembers that she did call him _Leonard_ earlier when she was trying to unnerve him. It figures that he'd be using it to give her a hard time now. 

He's back to nicking fries from her plate, the earlier tension somewhat dissipated. 

Iris pushes what's left of her meal towards him. "Leonard. Look, I know your go-to move is to take what you want. The question is, can you live with sharing instead? Because you won't be able to steal Barry away."

Leonard stills and points at her with the fry. "Careful, Iris. That's just the kind of thing a cold-hearted criminal might take as challenge."

Shit. She shouldn't have said that, not when she knows how contrary Leonard is, how he takes every _you can't_ as an implied _give it your best shot_. Now she's put that idea in his mind, he won't be able to resist it, and Barry — 

She fights down the momentary surge of panic, reminding herself that there was a reason for the certainty in her words, and it had nothing to do with trying to goad Leonard. There are few things she feels she can be as sure of as Barry's love for her. The thought emboldens her, giving her the confidence to lean forward and take a bite out of the fry in his fingers, pleased when his eyes go wide and darken and the flare of his nostrils betrays his quickening breath.

"But would a good thief content himself with taking one thing when he can have two?" she teases, using her thumb to wipe a spot of ketchup from her lip. When she notices the way he fixates on the gesture, she smirks at him and licks the stain of red off her skin.

There's a spark in his eyes. "Point taken."

It's as much of a concession as Leonard is likely to ever make, so Iris moves in for the proverbial kill. "Come have dinner with us, see where it leads. I mean, what do you have to lose, right?"

The ensuing silence stretches for too long, until Leonard huffs out in what could be amusement or resignation or some mixture of both. 

"Alright, you win," he drawls. "Anything goes wrong, remember that it was your idea." 

Elated by the hard-won victory, however temporary, Iris grins. "Just as long as I also get to take all the credit when it goes well."

*

There's a weird kind of cognitive dissonance seeing Captain Cold in the domestic surroundings of their apartment.

Even though Leonard had the sense not to knock on their door in full costume with the gun at his side, he still looks out of place lounging on the couch where Iris spends her Flash-emergency-free evenings curled up with a book and a cup of steaming chai.

He stretches his long legs in front of him and reclines against the cushions with his arms crossed, raising his eyebrows at the take-out Barry brought from their favorite Thai place in Star City.

"No homemade dinner?" He makes a chiding sound. "How disappointing." 

The fact that he's inhaled a box of green curry within minutes belies his words, clearly meant to put them on the defensive. 

"Yeah, trust me, you... don't want that." 

Barry grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, making Iris wonder if he had a flashback to the disastrous night Iris tried to cook a romantic dinner for him. If it hadn't been for his powers, they would have had to call the fire department that evening. And while somewhat less... explosive, Barry's culinary skills don't exceed pancakes and microwave pizza.

Iris chuckles, turning to Leonard. "Well, you didn't bring your gun. We figured the least we can do in return is try not to poison you."

"Can't be that bad."

"Let's just say Heatwave would get a kick out of Iris's attempts at cooking, and not because of the food."

There's a stain of red sauce on Barry's chin. Remembering Leonard's reaction at _Saints and Sinners_ the other day, Iris leans over on a whim, sweeping the spot off Barry's skin. He blushes and splutters when she wraps her lips around her finger to taste the sauce, the flavors of oranges and chili sweet and slightly spicy on her tongue. 

She can feel Leonard's eyes on them, heavy in a way that's not quite comfortable, making her heart skip a beat.

As the take-out boxes empty, the initial awkwardness between them eases. Barry stops fumbling for words, and Leonard's frosty attitude thaws, snappy monosyllabic answers giving way to the teasing banter Iris has come to secretly enjoy, and the knot in her stomach slowly uncurls.

It's amusing to watch the two of them dance around each other, now that Iris knows where to look. Knows that Leonard's quips and his half-hearted threats are flirtation, that Barry's flush is embarrassment and desire rather than anger.

The table in the living room is cluttered with empty cardboard boxes and two empty bottles of Chardonnay, and Leonard has Barry cornered against the kitchen aisle, the pretense of helping him clean up turning into something different. Iris takes a step towards them, lingering in the doorway.

From where she stands, she can see the rapid movement of Barry's throat when he swallows, the heated flush on his cheeks. 

"Are we really doing this?" 

A nervous flick of Barry's tongue over his lips makes Iris want to come over and slip between them, taste the lingering spices and lemony notes of wine in his mouth, but she holds herself back.

Leonard levels a challenging look and a smirk at her, like he's trying to call her bluff. She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow at him. _Challenge accepted._

He huffs out a quiet laugh. "Looks that way."

Then he's kissing Barry, slow and measured, with his hand on Barry's cheek, long, elegant fingers holding him in place, and Iris can't take her eyes off them. 

Barry gasps into the kiss, his arms coming up around Leonard's back, hands clenching in the soft blue cotton of Leonard's sweater. Leonard reacts by stepping even closer, molding himself against Barry until there's no space left between them. His thigh pushes between Barry's legs, eliciting a needy little sound.

 _Fuck_ , that's so hot! 

Iris bites her lip. She remembers all too well how it felt to be in Barry's body, every sense heightened, every sensation amplified by his powers, and she can only imagine how he must be feeling now, exposed to Leonard's hands and his mouth after wanting him for so long, need buzzing under his skin like lightning. 

Iris feels herself get wet, her head swimming with desire, and she can't resist the siren's call of stepping closer. She doesn't quite dare to reach out for fear of disturbing them and ruining the moment, but Barry looks at her over Leonard's shoulder, silently drawing her in. 

Still, her first touch – her hand on Leonard's side, just below Barry's – is tentative, hesitant, almost afraid that Leonard will jerk away. He never explicitly said he wanted her, did he? Maybe he wasn't joking when he said he was taking her comment about stealing Barry away as a dare. Or perhaps he's merely tolerating her presence so he can have Barry. Perhaps she should step away and let them —

Breaking the kiss, Leonard cranes back his head to look at her, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. 

"Finally decided to join the action, Iris?" His lips twitch into the same insufferably superior smirk that's so frustrating when he's out as Captain Cold, playing a high-stakes game of cops and robbers. It was unfairly attractive then, and it's even more so now that they're playing for a different kind of stake. 

He turns to Barry again. "What d'you say, Barry? We wouldn't want to leave your lovely fiancée out in the cold, would we?"

Iris is so distracted by the ridiculous pun and the soft huff of Barry's laughter that her attention slips for a moment. She feels the muscles in Leonard's back shift under her touch, but she doesn't anticipate the way he rapidly twists her around. It's almost as if he's the one with speedster powers when she suddenly finds herself sandwiched between Barry and him, Barry's hands at her waist and Leonard's on her hips, the hard, muscular lines of his body plastered against her back and Barry's kiss-bruised lips right in front of her. 

The feeling of Leonard's mouth on her neck and the soft rasp of stubble when his chin brushes against her shoulder draws a gasp from her throat. His left hand finds his way to the waistband of her skirt, slipping beneath her blouse and teasing her skin in tantalizing promise. 

She arches into Barry's gentle hold, feeling light-headed, needing more.

Arms tightening around her waist, he catches her gaze. "Too much?" he asks softly.

She shakes her head. "Just enough."

Leonard hums against her neck, sending sensual vibrations along her skin. "You sure?" His hand wanders down further, dipping below the lace of her panties. "Not too late to back out now. I wouldn't blame you for getting cold feet again."

"Oh my God, you need to stop with the puns," Iris complains. 

But then clever fingers find their way to the sweet spot between her folds, Leonard's callused fingertips dragging against her swollen, sensitive skin, and when Barry chooses the same moment to capture her lips in a sweet kiss, she finds herself thoroughly distracted.

*

Leonard steals the covers. _Of course_ he does.

In the dark, Iris fumbles for the edge of the blanket that's slipped into the middle of the bed, barely covering Barry's sleeping form. When she finally gets hold of it, she gives it a sharp tug, unbalancing herself and accidentally kicking Barry in the shin.

"Ow! What the hell, Iris?!"

She winces. "Sorry!" 

She doesn't know why she bothers whispering; it's not like Leonard will have slept through that. It's a miracle he hasn't tried to slip out like the thief in the night that he is. She can make out his form on Barry's other side, barely recognizable under the mass of fluffy covers, his back turned towards them.

"We need more blankets," Iris says under her breath, loud enough to be overheard, finally managing to tug some of them back towards her. " _Someone's_ been hogging them!"

The heap of blanket moves as Leonard twists towards them, eyes gleaming brightly in the dark. 

But before he has a chance to react, Barry points out, "What we need is a bigger bed."

Iris freezes, waiting for Leonard's reaction. She doesn't think Barry even realizes what he's just said, but when she meets Leonard's wary, calculating gaze across Barry's curled-up form, every hope that he might have missed the implications of Barry's words evaporates. 

"Bit early for that, isn't it?" His tone may be rough with sleep, but that can't hide the edge in it.

Barry doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are closed when he turns towards Leonard, nestling against his side. "Hmm. Yeah, the shops haven't opened yet. Gotta wait 'til later." His voice goes quieter and quieter as he speaks, words slurring a little, and he barely manages to finish the thought before he's asleep again, snoring softly. 

It's adorable.

Iris clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter bubbling up her throat. Across the bed, the diffuse gleam from the streetlights falls on Leonard's face, revealing the twitch of his lips. He looks down at Barry with a fondness that echoes her own sentiments. 

It seems to take forever until he finally speaks, and Iris's fingers clench around the hem of the oversized shirt she'd thrown on.

"I ain't gonna get rid of you two again, am I?" 

Iris is tempted to throw Leonard's _getting cold feet_ line from earlier back at him, but this is nothing she wants to make light of. She bundles up her pillow and lies back down on her side, watching him. "Barry isn't really someone who does casual hook-ups, especially not when he's already emotionally invested. And I guess the same goes for me. If you really want out, you should probably leave now." She swallows, before adding – perhaps unnecessarily, "But we'd rather you didn't."

Leonard holds her gaze, eyebrows drawn together in a frown, and the seconds ticking by feel like little eternities as she waits for him to get up and leave, deciding that being involved with his superhero nemesis and his fiancée is getting too complicated. She couldn't even blame him.

At long last, he seems to come to a decision. He inclines his head. "One condition." 

He draws the pause out for a dramatic moment, like he doesn't know that Barry and she are likely to agree to almost everything short of helping him out on a heist. "I'm fine with sharing Barry, and you. But I'm not gonna share the blankets."

Her answering laughter is loud enough that it stirs Barry from his sleep.

The End.


End file.
